‘Twas the night before Christmas
And
out in the shed,
Sat
my winterized MG
Where
I’d put to bed.
The
exhaust pipe was quiet
The
engine was cold
To
venture out this dark night
We
were not so bold.
The
warm, sunny summer,
Seemed
so short this year
A
return to July
Was
what we wanted to hear.
The
back roads were calling
But
now covered with snow.
The
MG, though willing
Was
not anxious to go.
I
plopped into my chair
And
pulled out a book
At
least there were MG pictures
At
which I could look.
But,
before I could settle
I
heard a strange noise.
Could
that have been returning
One
of my boys?
No,
it was Santa
Who
came into the room
And
as he entered
It
lifted my gloom.
He
asked if I’d had been naughty
Or
if I’d been nice?
I
said, “Santa, it’s really
A
roll of the dice!”
He
looked in his gift bag
And
pulled something out.
Was
it something great?
I
was beginning to doubt.
He
said since I loved MGs
That
were always in need
I
surely was worthy
Of
a great gift indeed!
He
handed me a box
That
had a strange shape.
Which,
when it was opened,
Was
full of duct tape!
He
said as he turned
To
depart as he came,
“To
keep your car on the road
Of
this gift was the aim.”
Although
disappointed
I
knew he was right
The
duct tape would keep me
From
a serious plight.
I
turned back to my book
And
was soon sleeping away
I
dreamed of the MG
And
we were ready to play.
In
my dream I saw Santa
But
his progress did lag
He
yelled, “Merry Christmas”
As
he rode off in his Jag!